Missing
by Bingalicious Midnight
Summary: Kirk is kidnapped during an attack that only he understands. Spock and McCoy must find him, but strange things are afoot on the Enterprise, and it seems some Klingons have been attacked as well. Can the Big Three save the day before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

MISSING

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Disclaimer: Ah, it's been a while since I wrote one of these. Well, if you were wondering, I don't own Star Trek.

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Basic summary: Kirk disappears, and as Spock and McCoy investigate, they learn that all may not be as it seems...

A/N: This is just an idea I had one night. It's still very much in plot bunny form, not quite developed into a multitude of plot rabbits (I'm not so sure what I'm talking about either…). But if you like it, I promise there will be more to come.

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The first blast was absorbed by the ship's shields. So were the second and the third. But, as always, Scott's prognosis was not good. "We canna take much more of this," he reported through the intercom.

Kirk grimaced in annoyance. "We can't fire on them," he said curtly.

"Shields down by twenty-four percent, Captain," Spock reported. He stood hunched over his console, manipulating the controls with one hand and holding on to the edge of his station with the other. The ship rocked with another blast. "Thirty-two percent," he amended. "Captain, if we do not return fire there is a good chance that the enemy ship will penetrate our shields and damage the ship."

"Yes, Spock, I know," Kirk said distractedly. "Lieutenant Uhura, continue attempting to contact the enemy ship."

"They're not responding," Uhura said. "Captain, do you even know who _they_ are?"

"I have a vague idea," Kirk said. Spock recognized the captain's tone as the one he used when he knew more than he could admit. _I have a vague idea_ could very well translate to _I know exactly who this is, but I can't say it aloud_. His reasons would not doubt be good, too.

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw a blob of energy approaching in the viewscreen. He braced himself with one hand, trying to get a reading of the energy at the same time. This time, when the energy made contact with the _Enterprise_, it shuddered violently under everyone's feet as the artificial gravity attempted to correct itself.

"Shields at fifty-five percent," Spock read. "Captain, these blasts seem to be growing stronger. However, I have yet to fully analyze their make-up."

"Keptin!" Chekov exclaimed. "Please, why are we not attacking?"

"We can't," Kirk snapped. He jammed his finger down onto the intercom button. "Scotty! Channel all available energy into shields." He looked at Chekov. "Now is not the time to question orders. Uhura, any luck?"

The communications officer shook her head. "No, sir."

When the ship rocked again, Spock was nearly jarred from his feet. Stumbling, he caught himself with both hands on his viewer. He heard someone cry out in the background and the hissing of a console as it blew out.

"Captain, shouldn't we at least go to red alert?" Sulu asked.

"Yes, put us on red alert, Uhura," Kirk said.

The shrill bursts of the klaxon started, adding to the noise. "Shields at forty-two percent," Spock reported through the din. A flash of light on the viewscreen warned him of yet another blast.

Suddenly, the deck pitched and fell from beneath everyone's feet. Part of Spock's science station exploded, spewing smoke onto the bridge, and he fell back against the railing, toppling over it as the ship lurched again. The lights dimmed suddenly and he landed clumsily on his wrist and side. Both began to throb dully but he struggled to his feet. Another blast shook the bridge and he stumbled back to his console. They were coming more frequently, he realized, nearly tripping over the rolling body of Ensign Chekov (who was very much alive, and spewing curses in Russian).

A good part of the science station had short-circuited, but the viewer was intact and he was able to read, "Shields down to twelve percent, Captain."

The bridge was loud and hazy with smoke. Hearing no acknowledgement of the report from his captain, Spock glanced at Kirk's chair. But instead of the seeing the captain, grim and holding fast to his chair, he saw the tell-tale shimmering of a transporter beam.

Then another blast of energy hit the ship, collapsing the shields and jarring the _Enterprise_'s gravity to a nearly horizontal angle. As the floor seemed to become vertical, Spock fell past the empty command chair and toward the opposite wall.

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McCoy had been next to the right wall when the _Enterprise_ turned on its side. He hadn't fallen more than a foot or two, and now kneeled on the wall-floor. He pressed the intercom button to the bridge. "Jim, what's going on?" he asked. "Jim?"

No answer.

Standing unsteadily, unsure of whether the gravity would return to normal by its own power, he made his way from his office to the main room in Sickbay, glad that he had strapped his patients to the biobeds at the first lurches of the ship. He found Nurse Chapel on the wall-floor, nursing a bump on the head but otherwise fine.

"I'm heading up to the bridge," he said. "I have a feeling they need some help." He didn't bother to say that no one had answered his call.

Reaching the door was difficult, because he had to climb up part of a wall in order to hook his hands into the side of the doorframe and pull himself up into the door. He managed this by pulling one of Sickbay's few loose, small tables to the wall-floor right beneath the door and standing on it.

In the corridor he found crew members in various states of injury, none too drastic, for there was no way to fall for very long in the confines of the narrow corridor. Though with that thought, McCoy remembered the hallways that ran perpendicular to this one—those would have turned into long, dangerous shafts.

Well, there would be plenty of time to deal with that later, provided the aliens didn't blast the ship to pieces.

Ducking through the horizontal door to the turbolift, McCoy said, "Bridge." He felt the pull of movement as the turbolift started on its way.

The bridge was a scene of total pandemonium. The air was thick with smoke, the blaring of the red alert klaxon, and the groans of the injured. McCoy paused for just a moment before climbing down various consoles from the turbolift door to the bridge's new wall-floor.

Most of the bridge crew had fallen to the new wall-floor of the bridge, though a few seemed to have held tight to their stations. McCoy worried most about those who worked on the opposite side of the bridge, for, excluding some rec rooms and the mess hall, it was on of the widest spaces on the ship.

He reached Chekov first. The young Russian was conscious, but barely so, and lay mumbling to himself under the lip of one of the consoles. Waving a mediscanner over the ensign, McCoy found that he had sustained a few minor injuries (a sprained ankle, a few bruises and lacerations, a mild concussion), but nothing serious. McCoy administered a stimulant and pain relieving hypospray.

Chekov's eyes widened and he sat up, nearly banging his head on the console. "What happened?" he demanded.

"The gravity changed," McCoy said by way of quick explanation. "Now, I need you to go up to Sickbay yourself. Normally I wouldn't do this, but I'd rather not have to move everyone myself."

A few crew members who had already been working on the side of the ship that now served as the floor were perfectly fine, and they picked their way through the wreckage on the bridge toward McCoy. He ordered them to assist the injured in reaching Sickbay, but not to move anyone who seemed like they shouldn't be moved. The orders were vague, McCoy knew, but he didn't have enough time or effort to spend on elaborating.

He found Spock after a few minutes of tending to the bridge's injured. The Vulcan was unconscious, his lean form draped in an uncomfortable position over someone else's console. McCoy glanced up across the bridge at what had become the ceiling and saw Spock's science station. He waved his mediscanner over the prostrate Vulcan. If Spock had been on the other side of the bridge during the gravit shift, he had fallen quite a distance. The mediscanner reported a few cracked ribs, a fractured wrist, and a dislocated shoulder. McCoy breathed a sigh of relief despite the smoky air. None of those injuries were life-threatening.

He had wished for stretchers a few times since arriving at the bridge, but carrying them through the sideways _Enterprise_ hadn't seemed particularly efficient. Instead, he woke Spock with a hypospray and planned to make an uninjured crewman act as a living crutch for the Vulcan.

Suddenly a strong hand caught McCoy's wrist. He looked down, and of course it was Spock. The Vulcan's jaw was clenched against the pain, but after a moment of obvious effort his face smoothed slightly.

"Spock—" McCoy began.

"No," the Vulcan interrupted, his voice gravelly, "The captain—Jim—is gone."

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Reviews are very much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

MISSING

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Disclaimer: Surprisingly enough, I still don't own Star Trek.

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CHAPTER TWO

"This," Kirk said coldly, masking his anger with an even tone, "is all wrong." He received no answer. "I demand that you return me to my ship. You _knew _that my crew was not to be harmed. But you've done just that. And you were planning on it, too, all along, I'm sure of it. I don't know what game you think you're playing."

"You don't have to know," the hooded, faceless figure said from the small viewsceen. The voice was oddly androgynous and metallic, so much so that Kirk thought it was being fed through a translator. "But we have a deal, and I fully expect you to uphold it. So far, I have done nothing to violate your demands."

"You crippled my ship," Kirk hissed. "You injured my crew. I expressly said that you were not to harm my crew or my ship. Do you call that respecting my demands?"

"I call that nothing," the figure said. "But I will tell you this: I only fired on your ship until its shields collapsed, as was necessary to beam you aboard. Had your ship been in working order, it would have suffered no damage, and your crew would not have been harmed."

In his fury, Kirk was speechless for a moment. His eyes widened in disbelief of the utter wrongness in the figure's words. Finally, he managed to say, "You could have contacted me, I would have lowered the shields. I would have beamed myself over to your ship. And yes, if my ship had been brand new, if it had never undergone repairs or even left port, then maybe, it would have been fine. How could you have not known that? Why did you fire on us?"

The figure shook its head. "You do not need to know," it said, and cut the connection.

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Spock winced as he sat up, balancing on the edge of the console onto which he had fallen. "Yes, Doctor," he said.

"But I don't understand!" McCoy exclaimed, jamming some solution into his hypospray as if for emphasis on his last word. "Who would want to take Jim? And why would they attack the whole ship to do it? Surely there would've been some better way."

"I am sure," Spock said, "that many people and organizations would like to kidnap the captain. I do not know why this particular person or organization decided to take him in this way, though I must point out that their tactic obviously worked. As inefficient as it might seem. Now, I must access the computer." He started to stand, and couldn't help but grimace.

McCoy pushed him down and applied to Spock's uninjured shoulder the hypospray that he had been preparing. As it released with a hiss, McCoy asked, "What do you need the computer for?"

"To find out where Jim has been taken," Spock answered. He restrained himself from adding _Obviously,_ for McCoy would no doubt be insulted and try to argue, wasting precious time.

"I mean, how will the computer help you?" McCoy pressed. He was squinting with worry, as he sometimes did, but after a moment he turned his attention from Spock to his medikit and began to search for something.

"I may be able to discover, from the energy signature of the transporter that beamed Jim from the bridge, who has taken him, or at least who manufactured their transporter. I would like to investigate any messages that might have reached Jim without our knowledge. There are other tests that I can no doubt run as well."

"Well," McCoy said, preparing yet another hypospray, "I _want_ to tell you to that you should report to Sickbay first, but I know that you won't listen to me. So, I've given you a general painkiller and a stimulant that should keep you from fainting all over your computer console. I have to move on, there are a lot of people injured on this ship. So, Spock, go and find Jim for me."

Spock nodded solemnly. He could already feel the affects of the hypos, and the lances of pain that came with each movement of his core seemed to be lessening. He wished that he could slip into a healing trance, but time was of the essence. Every minute wasted was another minute that Jim was taken farther from the _Enterprise_.

He nodded to McCoy and left the bridge.

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McCoy forced himself to concentrate on the patients in front of him. He had spent nearly two hours clearing the bridge of the injured, and when they—well, all but Spock, who had presumably found an undamaged computer somewhere—had checked into Sickbay, he moved onto Engineering. There had been a number of injuries, and one man had died, but Engineering was surprisingly less chaotic than the bridge had been. Scotty, who had managed to hang onto a rail as the ship tipped sideways, was working hard to correct the gravity problem. McCoy saw him, crouched over what seemed to be an important panel on the wall-floor, digging into the ships innards with a complicated tool.

"McCoy," Scott said, standing and approaching the doctor.

"Yes?" McCoy asked tiredly. He finished treating the concussion of an engineer he didn't know, and looked up. His shift was supposed to have ended more than an hour ago, and the constant barrage of new injured crewmen was beginning to exhaust him. He was also beginning to notice that he'd bruised his elbow during his short fall in Sickbay, and the tenderness was extremely annoying.

"I've found something interesting," Scott remarked.

"What?" McCoy asked bluntly.

"The gravity didn't go out by itself."

"I know that," McCoy replied. "We were fired on."

Scott shook his head in exasperation. "What I mean is, it wasn't damage to the ship that caused the gravity to change. That other ship must o' had a weapon that could control _our_ gravity—d'you see what I mean, Doctor?"

"I'm not sure I do," McCoy said. "You mean that their firing on us had nothing to do with this?" He waved an arm around to indicate the sideways appearance of everything.

"Nothin' at all," Scott said. "I think they knocked our shields out so that they could reach in and twist our gravity, and beam the captain away. Speaking of that, has Spock found anything?"

McCoy shook his head. "If he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me."

He got a call from Spock about a half-hour later. Punching the nearest comm. unit with his thumb, he answered, "Have you found anything yet?"

"Yes, Doctor, I believe I have," Spock said. He sounded as tired as McCoy felt, which was saying a lot.

"What did you find?"

"I would like to show you," Spock said. "Can you spare a moment and meet me in my quarters?"

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_Message, Capt. Kirk to Unknown Recipient_

_I'd like to talk more in person._

_End of message._

_-_

_Message, Capt. Kirk to Unknown Recipient_

_I want to know more about how you plan on accomplishing that. Again, we need to talk more in person._

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_Message, Capt. Kirk to Unknown Recipient._

_I can hold to those terms, though I would like to tell my First Officer and my CMO what you plan to do. If you reply with a time and place, I would be happy to meet you there._

_End of message._

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"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy asked.

Spock shook his head. "I do not know, Doctor," he said. He looked drawn, and his face was paler than usual. McCoy considered shooting him with another hypo, but then decided that there was a such thing as too many drugs. Spock rarely reacted well to his medicine anyway. "Obviously," Spock continued, "He told us nothing."

"Well, can you find any of his other messages?" McCoy pressed. "Is this all you've found?"

Spock sighed slightly, but enough so that, had the situation been less dire, McCoy might have pointed it out. "His other messages are locked, and I have not yet found a way to access them. I also believe, though I am not totally sure, for it makes little sense," Spock paused for a moment, "that Jim was beamed away through a Federation transporter."

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The plot thickens…or at least I should hope that it does…

Please, please, leave a review. Mental chocolate will be sent to all reviewers.


	3. Chapter 3

MISSING

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Disclaimer: I wonder what would happen if I said that I did own Star Trek.

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CHAPTER THREE

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A/N: You might have noticed a change in the summary. Well, the plot has decided to go in an unexpected direction, and I wanted the summary to reflect that. This story wasn't fully formulated in my head when I started writing it, so it's liable to change again. (Insert evil laughter here). The first two chapters are unchanged, though, so there's no need to get caught up or anything.

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Enjoy!

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Mr. Scott grumbled to no one as he dug into the ship's innards. _The Enterprise_ was confused, twisted and sideways, limping through space like a dog clipped by a car. On top of the gravity malfunction, the warp drive was on the blink and life support was hanging by a thread (the ship's temperature had dropped a good ten degrees, and was hovering at a chilly but livable thirteen degrees Celsius). He was sure that the problems were connected, somehow, but finding out which circuits had gone wrong involved a lot of difficult work. And none of it was made easier by the fact a number of them were now thirty feet above his head.

Someone beeped him. "Scott here," he scowled.

"This is Lieutenant Burrows reporting, sir," said a young voice. "I thought you might like to know that the replicators are tinting everything yellow."

Scotty sighed forcefully. "Thank ye, Mr. Burrows," said, cut the connection, wondering what might have done _that_. He maneuvered his tool into the circuit board, shaking his head. Working it farther in, he followed it until he was on his knees, hunched over the hole in the wall-floor.

Something brushed him softly on the curve of his back and he sat up in annoyance. But, upon looking around, he found that there was no one in sight, and nothing that might have touched him so lightly. _Maybe I'm going crazy_, he thought, half-amused. Sighing slightly, he delved into the complex circuits again.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he snapped upright. "Will ye stop that?" he demanded. He glanced around for the culprit. Maybe some crew member had managed to pass by without his noticing. Maybe something was falling down from the wall-ceiling. There had to be _some_ explanation, after all.

He was about to turn back to his work after a few moments of fruitless searching when a tricorder whizzed by his head, trailing its long strap along the floor.

"What the devil?" he whispered, wondering if anyone else could see this possessed piece of equipment. But the few engineers who remained in Engineering were deep in their repair-work, and seemed oblivious to Scotty's odd predicament.

The tricorder began to circle around him. He followed it warily with his eyes, moving his head as little as possible. He wanted to call to the other crewmen, but he was (as Mr. Spock would say) illogically afraid of angering it. It reminded him strangely of that Nomad thing in its movements, despite the fact that it was much smaller and _usually _looked totally innocent.

He finally opened his mouth to call to one of the other men (was his name Linkle?) and the tricorder clattered to the floor. Linkle looked up. "What was that, sir?" asked the younger engineer.

For a moment, Scott found himself speechless. Finally, he managed, "I think I've been seein' things. If I'm not mistaken, that tricorder was just floatin' through the air."

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McCoy crouched down next to Spock. The Vulcan was sitting cross-legged on the wall-floor of his quarters, a portable computer console seated squarely in his lap. Artifacts that usually rested on tables and stands throughout the room were now littered around him.

After an initial reaction of total, dumfounded disbelief, McCoy had questioned Spock a little, just to figure out what the Vulcan knew about the situation. As it turned out, Spock knew very little. He had no idea—no guess, even—as to who Jim had contacting, or how often he'd spoken. Spock didn't know what they had been talking about. He didn't know if the Federation transporter that had beamed Jim away was attached to a Federation ship, or if it had been grafted into another, or if it might have been a transporter of another make that just _seemed_ to leave the same energy imprint as one of the Federation.

"So basically," McCoy said in summary, "You have no idea what's going on."

"Essentially," Spock said, "yes."

McCoy almost smiled in spite of himself and the fact that nothing at the moment was a laughing matter. But then a sense of urgency took hold of him, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Can you find out anything else from here?"

"I shall soon see," Spock said. "I am attempting to break through the safeguards that surround the captain's personal files."

McCoy shook his head. "Is there nothing else you can do?" He felt as though his questions were repetitive, but there was no other way to urge Spock on.

"Doctor, I am doing all that I can."

McCoy waited in silence as Spock entered commands into his computer. He tried to imagine who could have taken Jim and where his captain could possibly be at the moment. But he could barely even believe that Kirk was gone. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would hear Jim's voice over the intercom any minute, calling him and Spock to the bridge. The fact that Spock was so calmly working, and not even showing the least amount of worry, didn't help to alleviate this feeling.

He watched the screen of Spock's portable console. A message of denied entry appeared, imprinted in large letters across the screen. McCoy shook his head in annoyance. Surely, _surely_, there was something more that they should do.

"Doctor," Spock said suddenly, "I believe you have other duties to attend to."

Shaken from his thoughts, McCoy turned on the Vulcan. "_I'm _worried about Jim, and I want to be here. I would help if you'd let me. Anyway, I can spare a moment to wait for you to find something more—though at this pace I don't know what you're expecting to do."

For the first time, Spock shifted his attention fully away from the screen, and McCoy was almost sure that the Vulcan was glaring. "I too wish that this search had yielded better results," Spock said icily. "But I am working as best I can in these circumstances. You, however, are doing nothing but watching over my shoulder and wasting time by arguing. As I am currently in control of this vessel, I am ordering you attend to the wounded."

"Now, you just wait a minute," McCoy hissed. "I have been 'attending to the wounded' for hours. Almost all of the ship has been cared for by me and my doctors. You, however, have holed yourself up in your room. You're ignoring _your_ duties for the sake of finding the captain, and since I have already done mine, I think I should be allowed this privilege too."

"You are not helping to find Jim," Spock said tiredly.

"Well, tell me what to do and I'll help."

Spock began to enter commands into the computer once more. "Please, Doctor, attend to the injured."

McCoy scowled, thinking of a reply. Only Spock had the power to annoy him so much. "Fine," he said finally, and settled down from his kneeling position on the floor to a more comfortable sitting one. He opened his medikit.

Spock looked at him in a guardedly quizzical manner. McCoy gave a small twisted smirk in reply, though he was far from good humor. "You're injured," he explained evilly. "So I'm starting with you."

Spock's communicator chirped, interrupting his inevitable irritated reply. "Spock here."

"Scott here," said the engineer. "Sir, I've just seen somethin' very strange."

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"I don't know what to make of it," McCoy said.

"Unfortunately," Spock replied, "Neither do I." His mind ran through the logical possibilities: perhaps Scott had imagined the levitating tricorder, due to distress, exhaustion, or mental illness. Or maybe a combination of the three. Or—and this could not be ruled out, for everything else was certainly strange—perhaps the instrument _had_ been floating. And if that were the case, Spock had more to research than simply a rogue Federation-made transporter. He was finding it alarmingly difficult to concentrate.

"I can't relieve him of duty," McCoy said distantly. He sounded as though he was thinking aloud. Spock waited for him to continue. "Without Scotty, we'll never get the ship working again. But what if he starts to see other things? Who know what he'll imagine? As a doctor, I shouldn't leave him on duty, but at the moment…" He looked to Spock, all animosity forgotten in the light of a new dilemma.

"Perhaps," Spock said, "You should see to him." He was blatantly trying to get rid of the doctor, at least for the moment, and McCoy probably realized that. But to his credit, McCoy only nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I guess you're right." He gathered his things and stood. "I'll be back," he promised.

Spock didn't reply, but with a slight sigh—almost as if he was deflating a little—returned to his research. He barely noticed McCoy leave. He felt that he was close to breaking Jim's codes, but the computer was not responding well to his attempts. Whether this was his fault or that of the computer (which seemed to be malfunctioning in all other areas) he did not know. Pain was beginning to radiate from his injuries once more, taking away from his concentration and making it impossible to find a comfortable position on the horizontal wall. He shifted his weight into a different uncomfortable pose.

Grimacing, but glad at least that McCoy had abandoned him for the moment, he entered a code he thought unlikely to work. But then, Jim had never been particularly predictable.

No message of denial greeted his last effort, and he entered the files of James Kirk. He deftly found his way to the messages sent and recieved by Kirk's unknown friend. His eyes narrowed as he listened to the first message, and the next, and the next.

Something very strange, very wrong, had obviously happened. But the messages only added to the mystery.

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What exactly did he learn? And what's up with the magical floating tricorder? Review (please) and you shall find out!


	4. Chapter 4

MISSING

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Disclaimer: I own sixty-one episodes on VHS, and my grandpa taped a movie or two (but I don't really like the movies). I own a bunch of ST books, but when I wasn't that into Star Trek I set them away for a garage sale. Now they're somewhere in my garage, and I can't find them. When I was six, I owned a blue shirt with the Starfleet insignia on it. I also owned a phaser that lit up and made plew-plew-plew noises. And I still have this Enterprise model from when I was younger…somewhere. In my room, somewhere.

Unfortunately, none of this means that I own Star Trek.

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A/N: Sorry this took so long in coming out! Here's a longer chapter to make up for the wait.

Oh, right. I wanted to mention that this story takes place during the original five year mission. That fact doesn't make much of a difference right now, but it should be at least slightly important later. (The plot bunnies have finally multiplied and I know where it's going...yay...)

Happy reading!

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Chapter Four

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McCoy waved his mediscanner wearily at Scotty. According to his equipment, there was nothing wrong with the engineer. At least, McCoy amended, nothing except for the fact that Scott claimed to have seen a tricorder zooming around Engineering like—as he called it—a scary wee beastie. McCoy rubbed his face tiredly with his free hand. The last thing everyone needed was to lose the Chief Engineer to a strange bout of insanity.

"Have you seen anything else strange lately?" he asked.

"No, I haven't," Scotty replied, shaking his head. "It was just this tricorder, and just for a moment. You hafta believe me."

"I believe you," McCoy said. He believed, at least, that Scotty honestly _thought_ he'd seen the floating tricorder. But there was no use in adding that. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he said, "Wait a minute--whose tricorder was it?"

"I dunno, I never thought to look," said Scotty. He picked up the offending tricorder from where it still lay on the wall-floor, fiddled with the controls, and reported, "Why, it's Mr. Spock's!"

McCoy's eyebrows rose as if they had a life of their own. "Are you sure?" he asked. After all, there was no _logical_ explanation for Spock's tricorder to be in Engineering. But the idea of a tricorder buzzing around the ship on its own wasn't much more credible. He wondered vaguely how Spock would take the news—the poor Vulcan was working so hard to make everything fit together, and this would probably throw him off again.

_Now where did that thought come from?_ McCoy wondered, shaking his head slightly as if to rid himself of it. Spock would take the news as he took all other strange news: with a contemplative expression and, most likely, a twitch upward of an eyebrow. And why on earth did he, McCoy, even care?

"Oh, I'm sure," Scott said after a slight pause. "I'm tellin' you, it just flew in here. D'you want to see it?" Scotty proffered the tricorder and McCoy took it, scowling at the now deceptively innocent piece of equipment. After a short moment he slung the strap over his shoulder, fighting the foolish notion that it would come alive and strangle him.

He sighed and checked the last of the readings on the mediscanner. Still, it reported nothing. "Well," he said, "it looks like you're healthy, both mentally and physically. I think I'm going to deliver this"—he raised the tricorder—"to its rightful owner. Just…let me know if you see anything else."

"Aye," Scott acquiesced. He sounded a little rueful, and McCoy guessed that the engineer thought he was going insane.

McCoy didn't even know what to think. As he traversed the hallways of the still-sideways _Enterprise_, he tried to puzzle everything out. The animated tricorder, Kirk's disappearance, and the messages must have been connected somehow. There was no way for events that happened in such a short span of time to not be connected.

He tried to run through a mental list of known enemies that had both the power to control gravity, the ability to make tricorders levitate, and the motivation for kidnapping the captain. He came up rather short. As far as he knew, neither Klingons nor Romulans could manipulate gravity well enough to tamper with _The Enterprise_'s internal gravity, and he had never heard that Klingons could make things levitate. (Well, he'd seen an article in a tabloid about a Klingon who could bend spoons with his mind, but that didn't exactly count). None of the known beings with the power to do any of this had any particular reason to take Jim.

Well, there was always the possibility that the Klingons were paying someone to do this. Or that someone he didn't know had it in for Jim for some reason. Or that this didn't really have anything to do with Jim at all, and he'd simply been the unlucky victim of an unknown alien's attack. God knew _that_ happened enough.

He was still pondering the situation (and having no great revelations) when he reached Spock's quarters. Ducking through the sideways doors he found the Vulcan in much the same place on the floor as he had been before.

"Spock!" he called out in greeting.

Spock didn't even look up. "I think there is something you should see, Doctor." His tone was serious and McCoy could detect an undertone of worry that he doubted anyone else would have been able to pick up.

"Did you get into his files?" he asked, crouching beside Spock.

The Vulcan nodded and pressed a button on the console. Immediately, the screen lit up and a dark cloaked figure materialized against a backdrop of bright white. The figure began to speak, in a tinny, translated voice: "Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. Do not question my identity, for it is not important, and I do not wish for you to know it. I am neither a friend nor an enemy. I simply have information that might be of interest to you." The message ended abruptly.

"That," Spock said, "was the first message. The captain replied to that with 'I'd like to talk more in person.'"

"What's so bad about that?" McCoy wondered. "Is that what you wanted me to see?"

"If you would give me a moment," Spock said, "I would show you more."

"Well, go ahead."

Spock nodded, barely masking his irritation, and hit another button on the portable console. "This," he introduced, "is a two-way conversation between the captain and the unknown person."

The screen once again faded to white, and the hooded figure appeared. "Greetings, Captain James T. Kirk," the figure said.

Jim's voice played back from the console in reply. "Greetings," the captain said. "I respect your request for anonymity, but how should I address you?"

"Call me nothing," the figure said harshly.

Though McCoy could not see the captain (for the computer only played back his voice as he had spoken to the figure), he could easily imagine Jim's expression, amused and puzzled and a little affronted all at the same time.

"Alright, then," Kirk answered. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"I understand that you are not on good terms with Klingons or Romulans?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow and realized that Spock had just done the same.

"No," Kirk said, "No, we're not."

"I have a proposition," the figure went on. "If you would like, I can arrange for peace between all of you. But," he added abruptly, "you must not speak of this to anyone."

"No one?" Kirk asked. "Why? And how can you do that?"

"You do not need to know my reasons," the figure said. "Simply believe that I truly wish for peace. All will be revealed to you shortly."

"I—" Kirk began. He was interrupted by a whistle of the intercom, and McCoy heard Spock's voice faintly in the background, calling the captain to the bridge. "I have to go," Kirk said. "I'm sorry. But I will consider what you've said. How should I contact you?"

"You may reply to my first message. Your computer will allow you to do so." The figure cut the connection.

"He did, didn't he," McCoy stated.

Spock nodded. "Yes, that was the second of his messages, requesting to speak more in person. The next few communications are similar to the first. Because it would be extremely time-consuming to watch them all at this interval, I will summarize. The alien speaks of a planet where Klingons and Romulans are ready to meet with a delegate of the Federation. However, the alien demands, for reasons he cannot say, that the captain represent the Federation. He wishes to meet the captain somewhere and…escort him to this planet. He orders that the captain tell no one about this, perhaps not understanding that in order to divert the starship, the captain must have a legitimate reason. All of these messages were recieved or sent in the span of three-point-six days."

"I'd like to see those other messages sometime," McCoy said.

"Very well," Spock replied. "I will send you a copy. But I believe I have told you what you must know."

McCoy took a deep breath and remembered suddenly why he had come. "I gave Scott a once over," he said, "And as far as I can tell, he's fine. But the tricorder he saw…it's yours." He pulled the strap over his head and handed the piece of equipment to Spock. "And damned if I know what it was doing in Engineering."

"Fascinating," Spock said. He took the tricorder and fiddled with it for a moment. "Yes, it _is _mine. I shall have to run tests on it."

He sounded unbelievably weary in that moment, as if running tests on a tricorder was the last thing in the world he wanted to be doing, and McCoy peered at him worriedly. "Spock? Are you alright?"

"I will be fine," Spock answered cryptically. "Now, I would advise you go and tend to the wounded. I will let you know if I ascertain anything else from this data."

McCoy glared at him for a moment. Was the Vulcan _still_ trying to get rid of him? Well, it would take more than that. Shaking his head and frowning, he said for the second time, "Fine," and settled down next to Spock and opened his medikit.

------------------------

Sulu awoke feeling rather disoriented. Nurse Chapel was leaning over him, but he could have sworn that everything was sideways. He groaned slightly as his head cleared. Yes, everything _was _sideways. He was lying on one of Sickbay's walls. "What happened?" he asked.

"We were attacked," Chapel said simply. "And the gravity went out."

"Hmm," Sulu said, considering. "Who attacked us?"

"We don't know," Christine answered. "But they beamed Captain Kirk away. Mr. Spock is trying to find out who they were."

"Ah," Sulu said. He still felt pathetically disoriented, but he shook his head slightly to clear it. The tactic worked as well as it ever did, which was not saying much. "What else?"

"Well, Mr. Scott is working to repair everything. Medical personnel are treating the injured. A few security teams are searching the ship, just in case the captain is still here."

"Who has the conn?" Sulu asked.

It was Nurse Chapel's turn to look confused. "Why, I don't know," she realized. "I think Spock is doing the research in his quarters, and as far as I know he hasn't ordered anyone to the bridge."

"Well, I guess that's my job, then," Sulu said. He sat up. "Am I free to go, Nurse?"

She nodded.

Sulu called Spock before making his way to the bridge. "Sulu here, sir," he said.

"Spock here," came the reply.

"Yes, I was wondering if you wanted anyone on the bridge."

"You may have the conn," Spock replied.

"Spock, sit back down," McCoy ordered loudly enough that he was clearly audible through the intercom. Sulu smiled to himself. Spock no doubt had his hands full with the ornery doctor.

"Sulu out, sir," he said, and made his way to the bridge.

He found that he had an immediate problem in the fact that he had no idea where to sit. The captain's chair was in the middle of what was now a wall. Sighing, he settled himself down on an empty console and wished he'd thought to bring a cushion.

Shortly after, an ensign that Sulu didn't know who was tied into the communications console (Sulu didn't _quite_ understand how, since the actual console was now attached to the wall some ten feet above his head) reported, "Sir, there's a ship nearby, and they're hailing us."

"Who are they?" Sulu asked, searching the screen. He couldn't see anything.

"Klingons," the ensign said, after a short dramatic pause. "Should I patch them through?"

-------------------------

"Spock, I've got some bad news."

"Yes, doctor?" After a good deal of whining on McCoy's part, Spock had submitted himself to a medical examination. He had already been relatively aware of what was going on in his body, and he knew that upon examination McCoy would only waste more precious time by pushing an immediate treatment. However, he had not wanted to deal with McCoy's incessant urging or his constant presence.

He had had to remove his shirt for the examination, and he shivered in the chill air (Scotty had yet to fix that problem). The shuddering movement made his ribs flare up in pain, but he managed to control it after a short moment. McCoy seemed to take a mental note of all of this, but went on with his report.

"You cracked a few ribs when you fell on the bridge," the doctor said. "I already knew that, and I'm sure you did too. But two of them are positioned in such a way that any significant jarring will send them straight through the tissue of your lungs. I'd like to fix that in Sickbay as soon as possible. I'd also like to get your shoulder back in its socket and set your wrist. Now, you can come with me peacefully or I can sedate you and drag you there."

"Illogical," Spock said automatically in reply to McCoy's ultimatum, "since sedating me and dragging me anywhere would with no doubt jar my ribs."

"Shut up, Spock," McCoy replied.

The intercom whistled, and McCoy jumped up to get it before Spock had a chance to move. "McCoy here."

"Where's Spock?" Sulu's voice was distinctly anxious.

"Spock here," Spock said, rising stiffly from the floor and joining McCoy at the intercom.

"Sir, there's a Klingon ship just within our sensor range, and they're hailing us. They want to talk to the commander of the ship."

"I will be on the bridge shortly," Spock said. He reached for his uniform shirt and pulled it painfully over his head. "Doctor, as much as I would like to accompany you to Sickbay, I believe I am needed on the bridge."

He walked out of his quarters, leaving a scowling McCoy behind him.

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Please, please review.


	5. Chapter 5

MISSING

Disclaimer: Star Trek no es el mio. Assuming "Star Trek" is a masculine phrase. Have I used Spanish for a disclaimer before? I need to think of some new ones.

A/N: I didn't mean to go this long without an update. I promise. I hope I didn't lose too many readers…

Also, as far as the formulation of the plot is concerned (since I know you care sooo much): I've changed my mind about some of my BIG PLANS for the story, and my bunnies are slowly breeding a couple of little plans. I think I got lost in that metaphor.

What's a metaphor? … Cows! (Get it?)

Oh well, enjoy this chapter anyway.

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Chapter Five

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The Klingon commander was bristling with rage. Even as he waited, on screen, he seemed like he wanted nothing more than to be pacing about and shouting at his subordinates—and McCoy knew the feeling. He seemed to be contenting himself with glaring fiercely the _Enterprise _crew from under bushy eyebrows and snarling under his breath in barely audible Klingon.

McCoy had followed Spock doggedly to the bridge and now stood next to him, scowling at Klingons and unknown assailants and mysterious messages and, most of all, damn Vulcan stubbornness. He wouldn't mind some good old stomping and shouting right about now.

"We did not attack your vessel," Spock was saying in reply to the Klingon's angry query. "We too were recently fired upon. Perhaps, if you would describe the nature of your attackers, we might ascertain whether or not they are the same."

"How do I know I can trust you, Vulcan?" the Klingon snapped.

McCoy gazed at the Klingon. Although he was not as familiar with Klingon uniforms as he perhaps should have been, he noticed that the representative of the Klingon ship was no captain or commander. But of course—assuming that the Klingons had been attacked by the ship that had disabled the Enterprise, their captain was probably also missing, carted off to that "peace meeting."

Which of course was a load of poppycock.

"And why must you trust me to divulge this information?" Spock asked coolly.

"Are you the captain?" the Klingon demanded.

Spock blinked. "No, I am the First Officer."

"Where is your captain?"

"Currently indisposed," Spock answered stiffly.

"I don't like your tricky Vulcan phrases," the Klingon said. "Indisposed how? Why? Where?"

"If you describe to me the attack upon your ship, I may tell you."

The Klingon glowered, considered, and glowered some more.

Grown annoyed by the circular conversation, McCoy stepped past Spock so that he would be foremost in the Klingon's viewscreen. Spock raised an eyebrow but did not protest. "I'm sorry to inform you," McCoy drawled, "But we don't trust you either. In fact, I and," he glanced around at the remaining bridge crew, "I and everyone else are close to suspecting that you're behind the attacks on our ship, somehow. In _fact_, if you weren't asking us if we attacked you, and if it was your captain I was speaking to right now, I'd be sure of it. But as it is, neither of us trusts the other, and we probably won't."

"What is your point, human?" The Klingon asked. Despite his still-hostile tone, McCoy thought he'd calmed down a little.

"Well," McCoy went on, "I'm just trying to say that we don't trust each other. Now we can agree on that and move on. We're probably dealing with the same aliens. Alright. This is what happened. They attacked us, broke down our shields, turned our gravity sideways—as you can probably see—and beamed our captain away." Bones crossed his arms. What could they say to_ that_?

Spock added, "Did something similar happen to your vessel?"

The Klingon nodded, looking about as pensive as Klingons ever looked. "Yes," he said gruffly. "Our captain too was beamed away. Our gravity was shaken, but we fired on the enemy until he retreated."

"Perhaps, then," Spock said slowly, "we should attempt to retrieve our captains together."

-----------------------

Kirk's frustration only grew with time. The viewscreen in his room—his cell—had been dark and silent for hours, since the figure had last assured him that he didn't need to know anything. He had explored every crevice of his small white cell to find a way out, but aside from the viewscreen and a bench built into the wall, it was entirely empty. He wasn't even sure where the door was.

Or if the room had a door. The thought struck him suddenly, and he felt like he'd just walked into a force field. He stumbled back and sat on the bench. He'd been beamed into this room. What if that was the _only_ way in and out?

He breathed deeply for a moment, calming himself. He would find out when the aliens chanced to feed him. If they chanced to feed him.

What purpose might they have for keeping him here? This was certainly no peace talk. So far, they had done nothing but assure him that they were upholding their end of the deal. He'd seen no Klingons or Romulans, but then, if they were even aboard, they were probably locked into their own door-less cells.

He rested his chin in his hand thoughtfully. He had, for whatever reason, believed that the alien was speaking the truth when he'd talked to him aboard the _Enterprise_. Might mind control have been involved? It was possible, and might even account for his behavior on the bridge. He slid his head down until it was totally buried in his hands. Everything had seemed perfectly clear, then. He'd jeopardized the whole ship, and his crew, without even thinking. He'd just _had_ to meet the alien ship without firing on it. He'd just _known_ that they didn't mean any harm.

He'd thought himself at least partially immune to mind control after years of fighting—and winning—against various forms of it. If nothing else, he should have recognized it.

Well, he'd be able to fight it next time. He'd been angry enough when the hooded alien had last called.

The Talosians flickered through his mind for a moment. Could anger have something to do with it? Or had it just been the awareness that the aliens were _not_ in fact benevolent?

He sat up. Whatever the case, he needed a plan. He glanced around the room once more, and, as it was nearly empty, his gaze fell upon the little viewscreen. If he was to damage it, the alien would probably have to come in, either to speak with him or to effect repairs.

Perhaps it wasn't the best of plans, but it was better than nothing. He would get out of here if it killed him.

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Spock had finally submitted to McCoy's request to take him to Sickbay, stipulating only that the doctor work as quickly as possible. They had agreed to beam over to the Klingon ship in fifteen minutes. McCoy, grumbling the whole time, had splinted his wrist and set his shoulder, and given him a brace that he hoped would support his ribs—"Only temporarily, mind you, and I expect you back here _soon_." There had been not time to use the bone knitter, much to the doctor's dismay, and with four minutes to spare he'd sent Spock to gather his materials.

Now they reconvened in the transporter room. The Klingons had refused to beam aboard the _Enterprise_, and only allowed Spock, Doctor McCoy, and one security guard beam aboard. Spock had left Mr. Scott to repairs in Engineering, where he promised that gravity was almost repaired, and Mr. Sulu in charge of the bridge.

"You know, Spock," McCoy said as they stepped onto the pads. "I'm all for working with the Klingons, but are you sure this is a good idea?"

Spock shook his head. He had been hesitant to agree to beam aboard the Klingon ship, but it had seemed the only logical course of action. "I do not trust the Klingons any more than they trust you and me. But as they refused to make an agreement without our coming aboard their ship, we had little choice. Also, their ship is much less damaged than ours."

"If you're wrong," McCoy muttered, "You'll have physicals everyday for a month."

"Assuming we return alive," Spock replied.

McCoy glared, and they both dematerialized.

And rematerialized surrounded a circle of charged disrupters. "Spock!" McCoy hissed.

The Klingon to whom they'd spoken on the bridge appeared, waving to three of his guards to collect the _Enterprise_ crew's phasers. "As much as I would love to trust you, I'm afraid I can't. We need all of the information you have about the attacker. You will have limited access to our ships computers, but we can not allow you to contact your ship."

"We would have told you all you needed to know from aboard our ship," Spock said. "Why, then, did you require us to beam aboard?"

The Klingon grinned. "You see, we are in Federation space. We could not have had you decide, after we had been of use to you, to contact your Federation. Your crew will do nothing without your orders. We are safe, and we will have your services. As you see, it was quite _logical_ of us."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "We would have offered a truce." The Klingon assigned to take his phaser and communicator jostled him roughly as he did so, and Spock winced. He saw McCoy start toward him from the corner of his eye, but the doctor was stopped by his own burly Klingon guard.

"Too risky," the Klingon said. "Come, we will talk further in the brig."

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Review or I'll throw _you_ in the brig…just kidding…heh heh… insert crazed grin here


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